A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers, #2)

by Becky Chambers

She could access no knowledge except that which was stored inside a housing that held nothing but herself. She felt blind, stunted. She was trapped in this thing.

A small child licked the back of her seat; her father half-heartedly told her to stop, as if he knew the attempt was futile.

A soft-skinned bot, in the shape of an animal Sidra didn’t recognise. Big head, stubby body, eight stumpy legs.

A non-sentient program, then. Nothing but if/thens, on and off, tiny baby algorithms.

She stretched out one set of the kit’s fingers toward it. The bot stretched up toward them, begging to be touched. A recognition protocol, clearly. If approached by owner, then act cute. She thought back to the beetles. If approached by bird, then run away. If hungry, then eat. If challenged, then fight.

There were rules about how to quickly kill insects before consumption. She’d seen such things on the packaging of Pepper’s snacks: Harvested humanely in accordance with GC law. You could be fairly sure beetles didn’t understand what was happening to them, and that they didn’t suffer much, but consideration was given to the fact that they might. Did petbots come with any such ethical labelling? What was the difference between strung-together neurons and a simple bundle of if/then code, if the outward actions were the same? Could you say for certain that there wasn’t a tiny mind in that bot, looking back at the world like a beetle might?

Sidra didn’t care much for waiting – not out in public, at least. Installed in a ship, she could’ve sat for hours – days, even – without needing much external input. But with no systems to monitor but her own, and no Linkings to keep her occupied, waiting was a deeply irritating way to spend time.

‘What’s home?’ ‘Home is here. Home’s where I am, and where you can rest.’

‘Why, you thinking of getting some ink?’ The kit shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Blue laughed and ruffled the kit’s hair. ‘I mean, hey, if you’re g-going to have an existential crisis, go all out, yeah?’

‘I didn’t say we don’t like colour. Colour is good. Colour is life. But it’s also noise. Words. Passion.’

Are we going for an anchor or a compass? A memory to ground you, or a spark to guide you forward?’

Somehow, outside, looking at the stars, everything was a little better. It didn’t make sense in her head, but it did down in her stomach.

Jane thought back to that first night – a voice calling out in the dark, reaching farther and faster than the dogs and Mothers. A voice that brought her home. ‘I wouldn’t have made it without you,’ Jane said, pressing her palm harder. Owl was quiet for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t have, either.’

The planet was beautiful. The planet was horrible. The planet was full of people, and they were beautiful and horrible, too. They’d made a mess of everything, and she was leaving now, and she was never coming back.

‘Life is terrifying. None of us have a rule book. None of us know what we’re doing here. So, the easiest way to stare reality in the face and not utterly lose your shit is to believe that you have control over it.

Everybody’s history is one long slog of all the horrible shit we’ve done to each other.’

‘All the things made better for some people. Nobody has ever figured out how to make things better for everybody.’ ‘I know,’ Tak said. She thought, cheeks swirling. ‘That’s why we have to keep talking to each other.’ ‘And listening,’ Pepper said.